The Missing

The last few days have been odd.  With a thousand details swimming around in my head, I seem to be a bit distracted.  For example I called myself and wondered why my right hand butt cheek was vibrating.  I removed my cell from the back pocket and wondered why someone from the lab was calling me when I was already at the lab.  I hung up the lab phone to answer my cell and the call ended.  That is when I figured it out. 

Later that day, after an all important jump in the ocean to clear out the fuzz, I knew that I must journey to yoga for the evening class to calm myself.  My husband helped me load my bike, yoga mat, change of clothes, water bottle, helmet, IPOD, 2 towels…

Rolling my bike out of the side yard, planting my right foot and bearing full weight, I went to lift my left, but the desired action did not take place.  I had rolled the bike onto my left foot, which was then pinned into dysfunction.  My weight was already dedicated to the motion and down I went onto the driveway, tender flesh verses concrete, the weight of my loaded bicycle adding to the corporal insult.  Tim rushed out to my cry of angst, saw my bloodied leg and shook his head.  He was not surprised that I continued on my quest to get to yoga despite my mangled knee.  Off I went, music playing, the bump in the road behind me, Bikram’s meditative call a singing siren up ahead. 

My bike began to wobble.  I looked down to see a rutted road and kept pedaling.  The wobble became a clank.  My tire was flat.  Heavy bike steadied, blood trickling down my leg, I hobbled back to the house knowing I would not be experiencing the benefits of yoga.  A large glass of red wine would have to suffice as a substitute mode of mind alteration.  I feel asleep that night, but not in the state of relaxation that I hoped for. 

The next day was invitation addressing day.  I had been tracking the post cards I ordered after forgetting to check the 3 day delivery box.  They bumped through the country from Pennsylvania, into Ohio, though Illinois and were scheduled to arrive in Santa Cruz on the 8th day.  With just over 3 weeks until my release party, I felt pressure.  A couple of my kids were coming over that night to help me with the process, so all was good.  About 1:30 pm, 1 hour before I left work at the lab, I happened to check my email.  There was a message from an unknown person with the words book invites on the subject line.  Now that got my attention.  It was a nice message from a woman who wanted to let me know that she opened her box of invites and found the box filled with my stuff, and…  she lives in Iowa.  This time my co-worker Patti rushed over to see if I was going to live, given the sound that came from my pathetic voice box.    Long story shorter, this wonderful young woman named Sarah, mother of a young baby I could hear from our phone conversations, searched me out from my website info on the invites, made contact after noticing the date of my event, rushed out to the post office and mailed them to me overnight.  I had the box by the next day at noon. 

Sure enough, Sarah’s order was on my porch and I hopped on my already repaired bike (thank you Tim) and busted it over to the post office.  It was a timely piece of wonderful humanity given that I have been tripping over my very existence lately.  The simple offer Sarah gave of her time breathed some life into my week, added replenishment to that reservoir within me that holds my belief in the good of our fellow citizens.  I now think of Sarah and the event that she will share with her family and friends all the way in Iowa and I bet she will think of me too.